


Sentry

by Naemi



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality: Zombies, Drama, Gen, Minor Violence, Off-screen Implied Character Death, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:07:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naemi/pseuds/Naemi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With his weapon readied, he swiveled in the direction of the noise, squinting his eyes to make out any possible attacker in the darkness behind his flashlight. There was wind in the trees. A flapping of wings. Other than that, John seemed to be alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sentry

**Author's Note:**

> [Alternate Reality: Zombies]

 

The setting sun hung low, chasing golden flames along the empty road. Sheriff Edwards shielded his eyes against the light; otherwise, he was perfectly motionless. Behind him, the three deputies he had handpicked exchanged a few whispered words around cigarette butts and water bottles, weapons in hand, with the safeties on.

The screech of a falcon echoed over the hills, dying in the treetops.

If not for the subliminal air of caution surrounding the group, the scene might have been idyllic, but the tension grew by the minute until it became an almost tangible harbinger of doom.

Thirty minutes into their wait, Sheriff Edwards waved at his men. Three safety catches clicked.

Night fell fast, and with it came a stirring in the undergrowth as the nocturnal creatures took over their forest habitat.

“They're coming.”

~ ~ ~

 _Beacon Hills Observer, June 27, 1990_  
    BODIES FOUND IN BEACON HILLS FOREST.

Early Tuesday morning, a couple walking their dog in the Beacon Hills Preserve discovered three bodies. According to the witnesses, the crime scene “looked like a slaughterhouse.” [. . .]

The Sheriff's Department confirmed the discovery, but did not identify the victims.

 

 _Beacon County Reporter, June 28, 1990_  
    MYSTERY ABOUT BEACON HILLS DEATHS DEEPENS.

After the shocking discovery of three dead bodies at the Beacon Hills Preserve Tuesday, an unidentified deputy was admitted to Beacon Hills Hospital with severe injuries. One eyewitness claims he showed evidence of claw and bite wounds similar to the ones found on the bodies.

“He is in a fairly bad condition, but he will live,” said hospital spokesman Oliver Quintana. [. . .]

Rumors are circulating that the bodies belong to three police officers from nearby Johnstown. Sheriff Edwards was unavailable for comment.

 

 _Beacon Hills Observer, July 4, 1990_  
    DEAD MEN CONFIRMED TO BE POLICE OFFICERS.

A week after the gruesome discovery of three dead men, the Sheriff's Department finally revealed the identity of the victims.

“We are deeply grieved to confirm the loss of Sheriff Edwards, as well as Deputies Ward and Allen,” read the official press release. [. . . ]

Beacon Hills remains in shock.

~ ~ ~

_ 2011 _

“Stiles?” Sheriff Stilinski poked his head into his son's room. “Hey. I got a call, so . . . ”

“Another animal attack?”

“I can't—”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed. “I know, dad. Police investigations are none of my business. I got it.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “I'll behave.”

“I hope so. I got enough to worry about without you sticking your nose into dangerous stuff.”

“Not happening. Just doing homework. Nothing dangerous about that, I promise. Unless, well . . . of course, it's extremely unhealthy to spend too much time in front of the computer. It severely affects your eyesight, your—”

“Good night, Stiles,” Sheriff Stilinski laughed as he closed the door. He could hear his son rambling for another fifteen seconds until the familiar clicking of the keyboard replaced his voice. With a heavy sigh, the man walked down the hallway and out into the night.

Animal attacks . . . yeah, there was that oddity. Try as he might, the Sheriff couldn't find the puzzle to fit this very piece in, but his gut feeling told him there was much more to it than just a bear gone wild. Tonight, though, was a different matter. The call he'd received minutes ago made him much more anxious than another killing. It brought back memories. It brought back pain.

For the first time in years, Sheriff Stilinski was afraid to face the victim of a crime, and for more than one reason.

~ ~ ~

Stiles waited until he heard the front door shut. When he was sure his father was gone, he tiptoed to the study, sneaking in like a burglar. Technically, he wasn't forbidden to go in there, but tonight his purpose was nowhere near innocent; he aimed straight for his dad's current case files, eager to learn the details about the most recent attack. He skimmed through the few stacks of stapled papers on the desk, but none of them contained the information he was looking for, nor did the drawers reveal anything exciting.

The top left drawer, however, was locked. Tilting his head to the side, Stiles eyed it intently, as if he could see through the wood and determine, without breaking in, whether or not it held anything worth the trouble.

With a sigh and sloping shoulders, he launched a search for the key.

~ ~ ~

“Bill. Tell me it's not what it looks like,” Sheriff Stilinski rumbled upon rounding one of the many crammed bookshelves in the Observer's archive. “God knows I would rather have a bullet hole in my head than _that_.”

The addressed man didn't even raise his bespectacled eyes. He sat bent over a collection of handwritten notes, cut-out newspaper articles and a series of photos, all the latter of which were shiny and new. “Sorry to disappoint, buddy. See that?” Bill pointed at one of the images, stabbing the face right between the eyes. “Scratches, bites and the typical discoloration of the skin around the wounds. We got a match, John.”

“After so many years?” The Sheriff heaved a sigh, scratching the back of his head. “I don't like this. I don't like this at all.”

“Don't look at me as if I'd like it any better. You weren't the only one who thought it was over. But Teri's message—” Bill flipped through the papers until he found the corresponding document, “—is clear. She's on her way.”

The letter was a only a short note, but to John, it read like a missive straight from hell, draining his face of color.

_Sightings along Skyway confirmed. Took out a few, but one is on the loose. Heading down to catch up. Hunting time._

“Oliver?”

Bill shook his head. “I guess we have to go without him.”

Sinking down into a chair, John dropped the letter back onto the table. “We might be too old for this. Ever consider that? Back then . . . it took a toll. God knows all of us might pay a price this time.” His face was ashen with memories and fatigue as he covered it with his palms.

“What do you suggest, then? Just sit back and let them overrun us? We might be older now, but we're not out of business yet. I still know how to use a gun.” Bill's eyes sparkled behind his glasses, as if this was a party joke and he a twenty-something frat guy on the right side of the prank. “And this time we noticed early. That's a definite advantage. There can't be more than a few spawns by now.”

“Let's hope so.”

~ ~ ~

It took Stiles roughly fifteen minutes to figure out the key wasn't anywhere in the study, and another three to convince himself that snooping around in his father's bedroom was part of fighting for a good cause, and thus no capital offense. Still, he was well aware of everything he touched, starting with the doorknob, as if his dad had a supernatural spot-fingerprints-with-the-naked-eye sense. Somehow, it wouldn't surprise him.

~ ~ ~

Bill and John headed over to the Sheriff's Department, preparing for the hunt. Teri was to meet up with them there, and, true to her word, she arrived within the hour. The years had made her gaunt, wrinkled her eyes, yet John didn't fail to notice the same air of energy around his sister-in-law that she'd displayed ever since their teenage days.

The last time they met had been at a deathbed, though, and since the shadow of this memory had never quite cleared, their hug was brief, as if they felt obliged, but incapable of showing kindness.

“So,” Teri said when the awkwardness was overcome, “here we go again, I guess,” and it sounded so final that for a heartbeat, the consciousness of the small group's responsibility sank down on them like a tangible weight on their shoulders.

“Look at us, eh?” Bill cut into the silence. “A reporter, a nurse and a sheriff taking up arms. Well, at least John is entitled to shoot people in the head.”

“They're not _people_ ,” Teri corrected a little too harshly. “I thought that was clear by now.”

“Just saying,” Bill replied with a smirk, his words overlapping with John's brisk, “Doesn't matter.”

Teri shrugged, pursing her lips just enough to show her disapproval, then she produced a wooden box from her backpack, worn-out and bare of any hint as to its content.

John almost flinched away as the clasp clicked open, feeling drawn straight back into the past. He watched as Teri took out one of the sais, the polished metal reflecting the lamplight with a silver shine. The last time he saw the weapons they'd saved his life, led by his wife's skilled hands. Last time, Claudia was fighting by his side and their world, however much dangerous, was not yet shattered.

“Look at these bastards.” Bill's voice sounded hollow, but it was still strong enough to break into John's thoughts.

“Sharp and shiny,” Teri smiled, locking eyes with her brother-in-law. _You good?_ she mouthed, receiving a brief nod. “All right. We better get going. The sooner we find him, the better our chances he hasn't zombified too many others yet.”

“Party time,” John murmured, packing up some extra ammunition.

“You're not going anywhere without me, I hope.”

Three heads turned to look into the smirking face of the one man to complete their group.

~ ~ ~

“Of course, it's got to be the last one.” Stiles huffed out a breath as he turned the key in the lock. He slid the drawer open carefully, surprised at how heavy it felt. Peeking inside, he noticed it was stuffed with documents. “Bingo?” he mumbled, squinting his eyes as he took out the first folder. It wasn't labeled, and it looked pretty damned old.

Flipping it open, his heart started to pound.

Staring at him from a black-and-white newspaper article was his mother's face.

~ ~ ~

John's radio gave off a steady white noise, but other than that the night around him was quiet. The necessary caution with which he'd been moving for more than an hour started to fade; he wasn't exactly twenty anymore. Since none of the group had found the slightest trace of the escapee so far, his initial doubt redoubled. They might be in the wrong place. They might be too late. There might be no incident, after all.

The last battle of this war seemed so unreal, despite the very worldly consequences. They had been a group of seven, much more confident in their own abilities to save the world when they were younger, and they'd ventured to the very source of the curse, rooting it out thoroughly. Or so they'd thought. Being on the lookout again felt so much like the nightmares that woke John ever since Claudia died.

A sharp sound startled him. With his weapon readied, he swiveled in the direction of the noise, squinting his eyes to make out any possible attacker in the darkness behind his flashlight. There was wind in the trees. A flapping of wings. Other than that, John seemed to be alone—but the hair on the back of his neck bristled as if someone—or some _thing_ , for that matter—was watching him, as if a hot, foul breath was coming down on him, as if . . . John took a quick step forward and turned back around, convinced he would find watery white eyes staring at him.

Nothing.

“Come on,” he hissed. “Where are you?”

The radio hiccupped, startling him so much that he almost jumped out of his skin.

“I found—” Teri's voice died in a static noise. “—looks—freaking mess—”

“Where are you?” John all but yelled, feeling tense to the point of nearly breaking. He received more unintelligible murmurs, but Oliver, obviously having no such transmission problems, replied, “I know the place. On my way.”

“Where, goddammit? She doesn't get through clearly.”

“Warren Farm Machinery.”

“Meet you there. Don't pull any stunts.” Two voices copied as John was already on the move.

~ ~ ~

It all made sense. Only that it didn't. Stiles sat on the floor, surrounded by newspaper articles that covered roughly the last twenty years. They detailed murders. Mysteries. He was smart enough to see the link between them, yet puzzling together the pieces was frightening.

He looked down at the three stashes into which he'd sorted the documents, his hand hovering over the smallest one, the one dealing with his mom. The uppermost headline read, _Four cases of unspecified hemorrhagic fever in Beacon Hills,_ with an image of the hospital's entrance printed below. It wasn't the latest article, but he couldn't bear his mother's eyes staring at him from an impersonal newspaper picture, so he'd put a random one on top. The impression of her watching him, however, didn't fade.

His fingers skimmed through a few other headlines.

_Outbreak under control?_

_Mysterious illness claims third life._

_Drinking water reservoir possibly contaminated._

_Missing hikers found._

Stiles hesitated at this one, pulling it out of the stack. The picture showed a group of four strangers, but he was very familiar with the background. From the shiny white paint job to the curtains in the window, the house in front of which the snapshot was taken definitely resembled his aunt Teri's former home. The story itself revealed nothing he could link back to his family, but it surely wouldn't be here if there wasn't a connection. He put it back in its place, only to move it to the pile he'd named _incidents_ a second later.

The craziness he'd fed his mind in the past two hours made him dizzy.

People missing, cattle gone wild, hitchers killed. Children kidnapped out of back yards. Over a hundred car accidents all over the state. Cases of mass-illness, units of stored blood magically disappearing, and a slaughterhouse raided, for christsakes.

Then, bodies rotted beyond recognition found in random places without the slightest hint as to motive or perpetrator. Mutilations. Decapitations. Blood everywhere, and notes in his mother's handwriting across some of the stories, saying, _possibly horde_ , or, _connected to incident X_ , or _eliminated by me_ or _John_ or _Teri_ , and that sickened Stiles more than anything else, to know his whole family was connected to such madness.

Stiles wiped away a tear, unaware, irritated that after all those years, he had to come across this collection of the macabre. As if the life he thought his family had lived was a mere cocoon, bursting under his footsteps, and not even his mother’s death had been enough to break the silence.

~ ~ ~

John's car shot into the empty parking lot, sending gravel flying from the dirt road he'd taken as a short cut. His weapon felt as heavy in his hands as his heart felt in his chest when he joined his waiting friends.

“Okay. Fill me in.”

“Oh, it's nothing much,” Teri said almost nonchalantly, taking a drag from her cigarette. “I just happened to find a couple of dead rabbits.”

“What do you mean, 'a couple?'”

“Ten, maybe? Couldn't tell. They were pretty much ripped to shreds. About half a mile up north. You wouldn't happen to know about the old bunker there, would you?”

John knitted his brows. “Sounds familiar,” he replied unwillingly.

“Not that I'm complaining, but don't you think it would have been beneficial to have known about such an _unlikely_ hideout beforehand? As in, save us time, at least?”

There was no answer to this. John simply had not attached any significance to the place when he'd stumbled across it a few years ago while chasing down poachers. He'd never as much as considered another outbreak, either. There had been no link, and he'd truly forgotten about the facility.

“All right. I don't wanna be a spoilsport, but someone's gotta ask.” Bill took off his glasses and wiped them with the hem of his shirt as he spoke. “We've got an underground retreat and more dead animals than there should be. Are we a hundred percent positive we are dealing with only a handful of spawns?”

“A hundred and twenty percent positive. The window of opportunity isn't great enough for more.”

“What if there have been others? What if a horde flocked together without us noticing?”

Teri scrunched up her face. “We wouldn't have missed it.” She flicked her cigarette away, but her eyes rested on her brother-in-law. “Right?”

“I believe so,” he said firmly.

“All right.” Bill put his glasses back on. “I'd rather not go on a suicide mission tonight, you know.” He shrugged it off as if they were discussing what wine to have for dinner. “My wedding day is next week, and Sarah would truly kill me again if I missed it just because of carelessness.”

“Relax,” Oliver grinned. “It's gonna be a stroll.”

~ ~ ~

Stiles turned his attention to the one document he'd left untouched. With its glossy green cover, it appeared almost obscenely cheerful amid all the madness.

His hands shook uncontrollably as he opened his mother's diary.

~ ~ ~

It was a massacre. And it was John's fault, or at least that very thought kept hammering in his head, speeding through his system with every heartbeat. _I should have known. I should have seen it. I should have known._

He fired shot after shot, and he could hear Oliver further ahead, but Bill's gun had gone quiet a few minutes ago. An occasional flash of silver along with the _swoosh_ of blades sinking into flesh proved Teri was still by his side, and if nothing else, John was thankful for that.

_I should have known._

The years of silence had only been a calm before the storm, a withdrawal to gather strength and forces. The occasional almost-sign of activity, a hiker getting lost, a farm animal attacked— _the damned slaughterhouse raided, oh my God, I should have known, I should have_ —it all clicked into place at the sight of the horde they were facing.

There was no escape.

_I should have known. It's not even a block away._

~ ~ ~

Stiles read with his mouth agape.

To imagine his parents battling evil, secretly, without any reward other than _knowing_ they averted a zombocalypse filled his heart with pride. To think his mom gave her life to protect him, ultimately, hurt him so much that he couldn't possibly hold back his tears.

~ ~ ~

“John!”

_I should have known._

He shot another one, _bam_ , right into the forehead, as he sidestepped in Teri's direction.

“Give me your gun,” she panted out, but all John could do was stare at her. Maybe she had lost her mind. Three more zombies approached, and he took out two of them, leaving the third to a slit throat.

“Give me the damned gun,” Teri yelled at him, “and then run.”

“What—”

She pointed towards the wall, huffing out a breath at him being so slow on the uptake. “Gas pipe,” she explained, already clutching the weapon out of his hands. “If I can produce a leak—”

John stepped back, shaking his head so slowly he wasn't even sure he moved it at all. “No.”

“It's either me or both of us. We can't let them win. We have to end this.”

_It's my fault._

“I'm doing it.”

“That is out of the question, _Sheriff_. With all due respect.” She gave him a hard shove backwards. “Get out of here. Now!”

_I should have known. I should have checked. It's my fault._

~ ~ ~

 _Beacon Hills Observer, February 1, 2011_  
    EXPLOSION DESTROYS WARREN INDUSTRIAL AREA.

An immense explosion outside Warren industrial area late Wednesday night caused damage estimated to be in the millions. The cause is still unknown. [. . . ]

Sheriff Stilinski was unavailable for comment.

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the **Zombiefest 2013**
> 
> Prompt 308: Teen Wolf – Sheriff Stilinski – So he didn't know about the werewolves? Sue him. He was a little busy secretly fighting the undead!
> 
>  **A/N** : Yes, I went back and changed Mrs. Stilinski's first name when we got to know it. Eep :o)
> 
> Beta'd by the wonderful **Moit** , who also made sure that all characters were returned unharmed.
> 
> [Feedback is love.]


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